Pain blossomed across his forearm as the sword opened a shallow cut. Blood welled, bright against his skin. The physical sensation was almost welcome, clarifying in its sharpness, burning away the fog that clouded his thoughts.

"Ooh, they bleed nice and red," SkulCrusher observed with disturbing enthusiasm. "Let's see what else this one does."

BloodFang grabbed Lydia's arm, pulling her away from Cain. "Don't interfere with our fun, guide. We're just testing game mechanics."

"NO!" The word exploded from Cain again, but this time it carried something else—a memory of helplessness as his mother died before his eyes, dissolved into blue light while raiders laughed.

He lunged at BloodFang, fist raised. As expected, an invisible force diverted the blow before it could connect. The Divine Laws at work, protecting Adventurers from Natives.

BloodFang smirked. "Pathetic. Don't you know natives can't harm Adventurers? It's built into the system."

More memories surfaced—EmberHeart in moonlight, explaining how controls worked, how the most effective prison was one where prisoners guarded themselves. The eastern gate. The clearing in the forest. Boundaries crossed.

"Let her go," Cain demanded, voice trembling with the effort of containing the flood of returning memories.

"Or what?" BloodFang taunted, his grip on Lydia tightening. "You'll fail to hit me again? Make another ineffectual gesture? What exactly do you think you can do, brainless?"

Something broke inside Cain—not a physical barrier but a mental one. Memories cascaded through his consciousness in a torrent: his mother falling to poison daggers, his father pierced by a crossbow bolt, VenomStrike's blades ending his own life, the New Dawn wiping it all away as if it had never happened. The reset. The forgetting.

But most painful of all—EmberHeart's tears as she realized he no longer remembered her, their connection erased by The Divine Laws along with everything else.

"You're crying," SkulCrusher observed with fascination. "I didn't know natives could do that."

Cain raised a trembling hand to his face, surprised to find moisture on his cheeks. Tears. He was crying. Another boundary crossed, another limitation proven false.

"Fascinating," BloodFang murmured. "This one's different somehow." He turned to Lydia. "Is he programmed specially, or is this a bug?"

Lydia said nothing, her expression a complex mixture of emotions that no Adventurer would expect from a village guide—fear, sadness, and something like pride.

BloodFang shrugged and shoved her roughly away. "No matter. Let's see what else he does when provoked."

He gestured to SkulCrusher and another companion, "GoreMaster." They moved to surround Cain, weapons drawn, faces alight with cruel anticipation.

"Leave my son alone!" Lydia's voice rang out with unexpected authority. "He's just a blacksmith's apprentice."

Her intervention drew BloodFang's attention back to her. With casual malice, he swung his dagger toward her, not a killing blow but a painful one, opening a cut across her cheek that immediately welled with blood.

"Mother!" Cain screamed, lunging forward only to be blocked by SkulCrusher's outstretched arm.

"Wait your turn," the Adventurer laughed. "We'll get to you next."

As Cain watched, BloodFang raised his dagger again, this time aiming for Lydia's throat. The blade gleamed in the autumn sunlight, promising death—temporary for a Native, perhaps, but death nonetheless. And with it would come the New Dawn, the reset, the forgetting.

He would lose his memories again. Lose EmberHeart again. Lose himself again.

"NO!" Cain roared, the word tearing from somewhere beyond thought, beyond The Divine Laws themselves.

He threw himself toward his mother, intending to shield her with his body. SkulCrusher moved to block him, sword extended carelessly in his path.

What happened next occurred so quickly that later, no witness could agree on the precise sequence of events.

Cain stumbled. SkulCrusher shifted. The sword moved, either thrust forward or simply held in place as Cain fell against it. There was a moment of resistance, then a giving way.

Blood bloomed across SkulCrusher's chest, spreading outward from where his own sword had somehow penetrated his armor, piercing flesh and vital organs beneath. His eyes widened in shock and confusion.

"What... how..." he gasped, staring at Cain with incomprehension.

For a heartbeat, everything froze—BloodFang with dagger still raised, Lydia with blood trickling down her cheek, the gathered newcomers watching in horror, and Cain himself, hands empty yet somehow responsible for what had just occurred.

Then SkulCrusher collapsed to the cobblestones, his body already beginning to dissolve into red particles—not the blue of Native dissolution but the crimson of an Adventurer returning to the shrine.

"He killed SkulCrusher," GoreMaster whispered, backing away from Cain as if from a dangerous beast. "That's impossible. Natives can't kill Adventurers."

BloodFang lowered his dagger, all cruelty forgotten in the face of this fundamental violation of The Divine Laws. "How did you do that?" he demanded, voice tight with sudden fear. "What are you?"

Cain looked down at his hands, as confused as they were. He had done nothing—had merely fallen against a carelessly positioned sword. Yet somehow, an Adventurer lay dead by his action, another boundary shattered.

"I don't—" he began, but was interrupted by the sudden arrival of village guards, drawn by the commotion.

"What's happening here?" the lead guard demanded, taking in the dissolving body of SkulCrusher, the blood on Lydia's cheek, the weapons drawn in the square.

"That Native killed an Adventurer," BloodFang accused, pointing at Cain. "He shouldn't be able to do that. It's against The Divine Laws."

The guard looked from BloodFang to Cain, his expression unreadable behind his helmet. "That is a serious accusation. All of you, come with me to the village elder."

"I'm not going anywhere with him," GoreMaster protested, still backing away from Cain. "He's broken the system somehow. He's dangerous."

The guard advanced, hand on sword hilt. "This is not a request."

Before the situation could escalate further, a new voice cut through the tension.

"What occurs here disturbs the harmony of Woodhaven."

All heads turned toward the speaker—a tall figure in robes of midnight blue, face shadowed beneath a deep hood. He stood at the edge of the square, hands folded within voluminous sleeves, his presence somehow commanding despite his stillness.

The village guard immediately straightened to attention. "Observer," he acknowledged with a respectful nod. "These Adventurers claim the blacksmith's son has violated The Divine Laws."

The Observer—for that was apparently his title—approached slowly. As he drew nearer, Cain felt a strange recognition, as if he had seen this figure before, perhaps in dreams or in those moments between life and the New Dawn's reset.

"No violation has occurred," the Observer stated, his voice deep and resonant. "Merely an accident of circumstance. The Adventurer fell upon his own blade."

"But—" BloodFang began.

"The matter is closed," the Observer cut him off with calm finality. "You will depart Woodhaven immediately. Your presence disturbs the village's purpose."

Something in his tone brooked no argument. BloodFang and GoreMaster exchanged nervous glances, then sheathed their weapons.

"This place is glitched anyway," BloodFang muttered, attempting to save face. "Let's go to Riverton where the real content is."

As they slunk away toward the eastern gate, the Observer turned his attention to Cain. Though his face remained hidden in shadow, Cain felt the weight of his evaluation like a physical touch.

"You remember," the Observer said. Not a question but a statement of fact.

Cain swallowed hard. "Yes," he admitted. "Not everything. Fragments. But more than I should."

"Indeed," the Observer agreed. "Far more than you should." He turned to Lydia, who stood watching with an expression of complex emotion. "The healer should tend to her wound. The blacksmith's son should return to the forge. And all should continue as if nothing unusual has occurred."

The pronouncement carried the weight of command. The village guards dispersed. The gathered onlookers returned to their activities, the incident already fading from their attention as if it had never happened.

"But what about—" Cain began.

"We will speak again," the Observer interrupted, his voice lowered for Cain's ears alone. "But not now, there is too many people."

Before he could formulate a question, the Observer turned and walked away, his robes making no sound as he moved through the square toward the northern shrine. Within moments, he had disappeared among the buildings as if he had never been there at all.

Lydia approached Cain, her hand gently touching the cut on her cheek. "Let's return home, my son," she said softly. "Your father will be wondering where you are."

"Mother," Cain whispered, reaching for her hand. "I remember. Not everything, but enough. The Crimson Grins. The raid. You and Father dying. The New Dawn resetting everything."

Something shifted in Lydia's eyes—a flicker of recognition quickly suppressed. "Such strange fancies, Cain," she said, her voice carrying a warning. "Best not to speak of them where others might hear."

"But—"

"Home," she insisted gently. "We'll talk later."

As they walked back toward the forge, Cain felt the weight of eyes upon him—not the Observer's, but others. Adventurers in the square, villagers going about their tasks, guards patrolling the perimeter. All continued their routines as if nothing unusual had occurred, yet something fundamental had changed.

A Native had killed an Adventurer. An impossibility made real. A boundary not just crossed but shattered.

Cain was halfway across the square when it happened. The air before him seemed to shimmer, like heat rising from summer stones. Then, hovering at eye level, words appeared—glowing text suspended in empty space, visible only to him.